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What had once been the military prison—the stockade—at Fort Bragg now held the barracks and headquarters of Delta Force, the elite, immediate-response Special Forces unit. The same barbed wire that had kept prisoners in now kept people without the proper clearances out.
“How’re you doing with people from China Post?”
Many former Special Forces soldiers, Marine Force Recon, Navy SEALs, Air Commandos, and other warriors of this ilk belong to China Post 1 in exile (from Shanghai) of the American Legion. Those wishing to employ this sort of people in a civilian capacity often have luck finding just what they want at “China Post.”
“I guess you know General McNab called them?”
Castillo nodded. “He told me he was going to.”
“That helped. I’ve got eight guys, good guys—I guess they’re getting a little tired of commuting to Iraq and Afghanistan—lined up. They’re going to be expensive, but Masterson said that wasn’t a problem.”
“It’s not. How soon can they be up and running?”
“Forty-eight hours, tops, and they’ll be on the job.”
“I want to run this whole thing past Masterson—and the widow—but I don’t think they’ll object. How about first thing in the morning getting that going?”
“This is first thing in the morning.”
Castillo looked at his watch. “Half past four, which means it’s half past ten in Germany. Which brings me to this.”
He walked to the bar, picked up a telephone, and punched in a long series of numbers from memory.
[FOUR]
Executive Offices
Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H.
Fulda, Hesse, Germany
1029 2 August 2005
Frau Gertrud Schröder, a stocky sixty-year-old who wore her blond hair in a bun, put her head in the office door of Otto Görner, the managing director of Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H. She had on a wireless headset.
“Karlchen is favoring you with a call,” she announced, her hand covering the microphone.
“How kind of him,” Görner replied. He was a well-tailored sixty-year-old Hessian whose bulk and red cheeks made him look like a postcard Bavarian. As he reached for one of the telephones on his desk, he added, “Well, at least he’s alive.”
Frau Schröder walked to the desk and Görner waved her into a chair opposite him.
“And how are things in South America?” Görner said into the handset.
“I have no idea, I’m in Mississippi. And I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
“May I ask what you’re doing in Mississippi?”
“I’m in Penthouse C of the Belle Vista Casino in Biloxi about to have steak and eggs for breakfast.”
“Why do I suspect that for once you’re telling me the truth?”
“But speaking of South America, you might take a look at the Reuters and AP wires from Uruguay starting about now.”
“Really?”
“I think both you and Eric Kocian might be interested in what might come over the wire.”
“Well, I’ll keep an eye out, if you say so.”
